


Full Contact

by osunism



Series: Like Real People Do [5]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Mild Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osunism/pseuds/osunism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zaeed and Amamansa sparring...of course it leads to sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Contact

Fighting Amamansa and fucking Amamansa are not so mutually exclusive.

They are, in fact, sometimes synonymous.

Like right now.

She’s half-naked on top of him, slippery with sweat, her dark curly hair glittering in the light. Her apartment is so goddamn big. He wants to tell her he’s terribly sorry about how shattered coffee table, but he suspects she’s not in the business of caring.

“Going to give up?” She asks him, but he’s distracted. Two beads of clean sweat roll down her neck, collect in the shallow of her collarbone, and then vanish between her breasts. Zaeed tells himself not to give up, but if he does he can lean up and chase that sweat right down to her tits. She loves that shit for some reason. Hell, he loves that shit too.

Ama makes a grunt of effort when he knocks her across the face instead, freeing him just enough for him to tangle her onto her stomach.

“You got a lot to learn still, sweetheart,” he snarls, but there’s no malice in it, “if you think you can pin me in two goddamn moves.” He’s distracted. Who knew she was so goddamn gorgeous under all that armor? All that muscle, hard-earned no doubt, and her skin, cracked by fault-line scars along her back where he can see the cybernetics that comprise her.

“Give it up.” He tells her and neither one of them are sure what he means. And Ama, the wily bitch, moves. She’s not trying to escape, he realizes, his hold on her is too solid, his weight too evenly placed for her to do so. No, the bitch decides to lift her hips just enough to apply some unwanted pressure on his crotch.

Zaeed gets a hand in her thick, curly hair. It looks like shiny wool, but feels like goddamn clouds. He pins her head.

“You playin’ dirty?” He demands, “You really wanna go there with me?”

Oh she wants to go there, he can tell. She wants to go there and open up fucking shop. Ama moves again, accompanied by a sound that could be effort or pleasure. _Fuck her_. Yes. That’s a good idea.

Zaeed keeps her head pinned, slides back just enough to keep her still. Then, he leans in, and bites her nape.

Almost immediately, her biotics trigger and he’s awash in a rush of sensation, held in stasis as she frees herself. This is going to end one way, and as she tips him onto his back, and plants her foot on his crotch just enough for him to feel it, she smirks.

Zaeed tries to grind a swear from between his locked teeth and her smirk becomes a grin, her eyes glowing red. She keeps her foot planted there, light and easy, but she can probably feel how hard he is through his trousers. Not like he’d ever hide that from her.

“Give up, Zaeed?” She purrs. He can’t answer, she knows this, so she frees him. He lays still, sweat gleaming on his skin, his chest rising and falling as he pants for breath.

“Only way I give up is when I’ve got you face down and ass up, Shepard.”

He has only gotten her that way once. Ama isn’t one to just take it like a good girl. She’s a goddamn monster when he gets her going. From the way she strips out of her shorts, leaving only what he can’t say could ever pass for panties, and that sports bra, he may be off to a good start.

She spills onto him like water, muscles moving like a well-oiled machine beneath her scarred skin. She sits directly on his crotch and he can feel the goddamn heat of her. Wet and thick like that backwater swamp planet he and a team got holed up in chasing slavers.

“Sweetheart,” he says, “if you’re going to do something, now would be a good time to do it.” Ama narrows her eyes. They want each other. They always do when they’re fighting. The wires are crossed in their brains somehow, wedding violence and pleasure, so long as they’re crashing into each other. Her punching him in the face can be seen as foreplay, and him pinning her on her belly is...ah well.

She hasn’t moved, so Zaeed moves for her. He sits up, grabbing both her arms so that they’re eye level. Her legs lock around him. Good. She’s right where he needs her to be.

“If you’re going to do something,” she says, “now would be a good time to do it.”

Zaeed does exactly what he intended to from the first. He moves in, chases the gleaming path of sweat on her neck, delighting in her little moan of approval. The bra is something he can work around, and he bites her nipple through the fabric, making her gasp. It’s unfair, really, that he knows exactly what buttons to push to get her blood rushing.

Not that he gives a damn. He’ll push her buttons and then some.

He can feel her chest heaving, wanting to free herself, so he helps her along. She tugs the bra over her head and Zaeed would be a fool if he didn’t like the way her tits bounced free. Ama always did have a body on her, all sinew and streamlined muscle. He drags his teeth across her bared nipples, dark little buds against her warm, sepia skin. The fault lines of her previous life crack her open in places, and he can see her story seeping through them. He kisses each one, forgetting momentarily that they’re supposed to be fighting.

Ama goes soft in his arms, in that way he knows she’d never let anyone else see. Zaeed is hard enough to break, and so he abandons the moment of tenderness to return to the matter at hand.

“If your enemies knew how much you got off on fighting them there’d be peace from one end of the goddamn galaxy to the other.” He remarks against her skin, “And I’d be out of the fucking job.”

Ama laughs, low and throaty, a sound he wants to feel from the inside.

She reaches between them, tugging his cock out of his trousers. He reaches too, hooking two fingers along the soaked hem of her panties and tugging them aside.

It’s not face down and ass up, as she likes, but this is going to have to do. Zaeed aids her when she lifts her hips, and grits his teeth on a hiss as she sinks down on him, engulfing him in all that slick, wet heat. It takes him a moment to adjust to the sensation, and her breathing evens out, her dark eyes glittering.

“Fuck…” He mutters, more from the look on her face than the position they’re in. Ama’s face animates into a smirk, sly like the rest of her. She moves slow, up and down along the length of him. Zaeed’s arms are strong around her, holding on for the ride. He can hear it, the slick slide between them, a sound he never gets tired of as she rocks her hips against his.

But patience isn’t something Zaeed exercises when he’s not being paid for it.

Ama gasps when his arms get too tight, stilling her instantly.

“If I wanted to make love,” Zaeed tells her, “I would have tossed you into bed properly.” He moves her and she groans, empty of him, bereft, but laughs when he positions her body on her hands and knees. Ever the one to accept the challenge, Ama drops to her elbows, her back fully arched, teasing him with the slick sheen of her cunt in front of him.

“That’s my girl.” Zaeed chuckles, tracing the moist lips with his fingers. He slides one finger back and forth along the wet slit, lingering on her clit. Her thighs part wider and she moves her hips, rocking back and forth, countering his rhythm. He takes his fingers away, slick with her, and puts them in his mouth.

Ama glances at him over her shoulder. Zaeed’s hands squeeze the generous curves of her ass, and then he delivers a harsh slap, jolting her. She cries out. The apartment makes it echo.

And without preamble, he thrusts into her, pulling her hips back until her ass is snug against his hips. Ama drops her head against the mat, hands clasped as if in prayer. From this angle, she can feel the curve of his cock along the snug, wet path of her. She knows exactly how long it will take before she comes, and he does too.

Zaeed takes his time, enjoying the view more than anything, the way her back moves, well-muscled, with the shallow dip along her spine. There’s dimples right above her ass, and he loves it. It’s one of his favorite parts of her. Amamansa is built for war in her armor, but when she’s naked and pressed on all fours, Zaeed can see sex in her easily.

The thought alone makes him pick up the pace. He’s got a firm grip on her hips, but she’s strong enough to throw her ass back at him, meeting him stroke for stroke. The apartment’s quiet hum is overpowered by the sound of Ama’s throaty moans, choked off with each ruthless thrust, the sound of her ass meeting his hips in rapid succession. The sound of her nails dragging across the mat as she struggles for control.

Zaeed presses a palm on her back.

“Hold still,” he tells her, “and then you can come.”

Ama lets out a broken sound as she tries to counter his order, but Zaeed overrules her and she takes him deep, can feel the slap of his balls against her clit with every stroke. Time seems to suspend in those moments as she begins to crest. She can hear herself, but it feels like a dream, one she watches with increasing excitement. The visual in her mind’s eye, Zaeed’s powerful body pulling her back and forth along his cock, is enough to send her careening into climax. There is no control to it, no artistry, only the sensation. She has absolutely no thought in that moment, only the fierce release in her belly, the clenching of her sex around him, and the shiver that starts from the base of her spine and ends in the roots of her hair.

Zaeed, for his part, has experience in exercising self-control.

“Good girl,” he says gruffly, tracing the trails of sweat down her back. He takes his pleasure with her then and only then, and Ama is content to ride, her senses overwritten again and again. Dark energy blooms in the room as her biotic glow along her skin.

“Shit!” Zaeed growls, the sensation reaching him too. He grabs her arms, holding them for leverage, and in those final moments, he doesn’t care. Like her, there is only the fearsome need to come. He doesn’t think about the curve of her smile, or the way her armor seems to accentuate her body. No, he just thinks about how good it feels to have her wrapped around his cock and her power wrapped around the rest of him. He gives her several hard pumps of his hips, rapid and merciless, and comes with a shouted swear. He empties himself in her, and her smile is satisfied and languid as she feels him shuddering.

Later, he takes her to bed as promised, lets her ride him slow and steady, makes her come gently, watches her orgasm shiver down the length of her body, holds her waist while she cups her own breasts, rolling her nipples between her fingers. Zaeed loves Ama when she is like this. She’s as beautiful when she fucks as she is when she’s shouting orders and staring at the universe down the barrel of a gun.

Still, when exhaustion and a sated appetite send her to sleep, Zaeed lays awake a moment longer. Her story glows through the fissures of scars in her skin.

This is the woman who survived being spaced and crashing into a planet. A woman who took down three Reapers, one on foot and alone. A woman who let him have his vengeance because she understood what it meant.

“Zaeed,” she mumbles, not opening her eyes, “it’s cold. You can watch me sleep or you can hold me, you old bastard.”

Zaeed grunts in reply, tugging her into his arms. Ama adjusts, reveling in his scent, of the warm, hard muscle under her hands.

“Much better.” She murmurs. Zaeed wonders if all of their sparring matches will end this way. He doesn’t think he’ll survive her if that’s the case. Still, the aftermath is always satisfactory, and he’s slept in worse places than a big soft bed in an oversized apartment.


End file.
